Dinner at Mesa Grill
by scubysnak
Summary: Liv and Alex have dinner at Mesa Grill and Liv notices that the proprietor can't keep his eyes off of Alex. Alex/Olivia


**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…**

_**A/N: If someone has written something similar to this, my apologies. I don't recall reading it and the idea came to me while flipping between the SVU marathon and the Food Network. It's just a brief piece of fluff that insisted I write it.**_

"Why does he keep looking at you?"

The ADA lifted the napkin from her lap and turned her head in the direction that I had been staring for the last few minutes. Her eyes sparked with recognition for a fleeting second, but only long enough that I barely noticed.

Her fingers curled around the stem of the wine glass that sat beside her plate and she lifted it to her lips, quickly saying, "I know him," before following her statement with an indulgent mouthful of the Merlot _he_ had recommended with dinner.

I placed both of my arms on the table and leaned toward her. "Just how do you know him? I thought you said you hadn't been to this place before?"

I was always keenly aware of the way men watched Alex. Usually, it gave me some sense of smug satisfaction to know that I had someone almost all men wanted. In this instance, it didn't. He was eyeing her like she was the secret ingredient in one of his five course meals on _Iron Chef America._

I looked from him to her again. "You didn't prosecute him, did you? Is that how he knows you? I don't remember him being brought in on anything. What was the charge? Date rape? Contributing to the delinquency?"

She almost spit the wine out that she hadn't yet swallowed. She sat her glass down carefully and reached across the table and covered one of my hands with hers.

"A friend," she lowered her head while she stroked the back of my hand with her thumb, "set us up on a blind date."

I slowly pulled my hand back, playing once again with the napkin in my lap and avoiding eye contact.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew him when he came over and talked to us? You acted like it was the first time you had ever met him."

I was trying hard not to raise my voice or draw attention to us. She knew how I felt about deceit—even perceived deceit. And she had never—EVER—mentioned dating Bobby Flay.

"Liv, dear, we've had the discussion about how green is not your color," she said in that sophisticated, dismissive tone she liked to employ when she wanted the current topic to be over with.

I leaned back in my seat, my arms crossed defiantly over my chest, assuming my _this isn't over until I say it's over_ pose.

"Fine, if you must know. We had a few dates, but it was years ago, Olivia. He was more interested in his rubs and spices than he was in me. All he ever wanted to talk about were recipes and how he was writing this cookbook or that one. He wanted to know what I thought of his décor choices or if this dish needed more fennels or a sprig of lemon. I mean, come on, Liv. I eat food, I don't cook it. I wouldn't know a garlic press from a potato peeler."

My arms relaxed and my jaw slackened. I picked my silverware up once again and continued to eat.

Just as I was about to swallow a piece of the most tender filet I had ever had the pleasure of eating, she added nonchalantly, "Besides, I drew the line when he insisted on slathering me in olive oil before sex."

As I was still trying to chew the steak in my mouth and swallow it without needing the Heimlich maneuver, she rubbed her foot up the inside of my leg and right into the space between my thighs, applying just enough pressure to make me cough. She ran her tongue along her lips and leaned in over the table. Drawn like a magnet to my other half, I followed suit and did the same.

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she husked, "Besides, the only thing I want on my skin is… yours."

I sat my fork and knife down, picking up my wine glass and swirling the deep purplish-red liquid before looking back across the restaurant at the red-cropped man before looking back across the table at Alex.

Smirking, I asked, "You're not as opposed to chocolate sauce and whipped cream as you are olive oil, are you?"


End file.
